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The Clan Wars: A Dog of War
Author's Note: This is a story which is meant to give the reader some more background story of Clan Gorehound and a little more depth to the character of Gregorius Tenebrae the Iron Hound. I will resume updating on it, whenever I have time. Chapter 1 - From Mut to Dog Stupid Mut...' '' '''Watch where you are going, you stupid Mut! How weary I was of hearing those namecallings... Day after day... Night after night... A life isn't worth much among the ranks of Clan Gorehound. The Mangy Muts... That's what they used to call us... The lowest of the ranks... 'Who am I?' the reader might ask. My real name has been forgotten ever since my birth. I am not even sure I had a name in the first place... Maybe my mother just tossed me to the side as soon as I came out? A life isn't worth much among the ranks of Clan Gorehound after all... They call me Fang. I am an Imperial. I am sixteen years of age and a Mangy Mut. A scum. A part of the rabble. Just some arrow-fodder this war machine of a clan might send off headlong into battle and watch us get teared to pieces by a brute force of some other major clan like Clan Cave-Bear or maybe even Clan Blood Raven. Maybe that's what makes this clan so deadly? The other ranks get their strength and willpower of watching the Mangy Muts die, before the Iron Hound commands them to attack. It always ends in a blood-bath... those few of us muts that survive and find ourselves a nice piece of weapon gets promoted to the rank of Red Dog. Such a disgraceful title... Yet here I am... I killed my first man yesterday. A Khajiit fighting for Clan... Smoke-Tiger? Clan Shadow-Lynx? Too many clan to keep track off... I still recall the look on his face as I write this down. The expression of someone who knew when everything he had come to love in life ended with a single stroke of a blade. Only this time it was actually a sharpened rock I had managed to fetch from the ground whilst running towards him. Mangy Muts aren't allowed to wear weapons during their first fight. We must prove our worth in order to advance. And advanced I did... For better or for worse... When the Khajiit was dead I took the sword from his corpse. Maybe it was a family heirloom? Maybe he had bought it a local market? I never got to knew the story of the man, but nevertheless I thanked the Gods for his death as they had granted me a new life. 'Colleagues' of mine tried to take the weapon of course. Only those who had killed and received a weapon during their first battle would be able to advance. I killed them as well... I proved my worth... The year is 4E 187... "Fang!" shouted a voice from outside the tent. "Fang, you lazy bastard! You still writing that log of yours?" "What?" he replied. "Uhm... yeah..." Bori Fast-Hand entered the tent. The Nord boy had more muscles in his legs than his arms, indicating that he was more fit to run from enemies rather than fighting them head on. Bori was unlike the rest of the Red Dogs. Even though he probably had more kills than anyone of them, he had denied the offer of training to become a Bloody Hound. He said it didn't fit him to fight in heavy armor, especially not when he favored the bow and arrow. "The year is 4E 187", repeated the Nord when he read the text over Fang's shoulder. "Such a grim text you are writing there, my friend." "Fit for a grim clan." "Aye, that it might be. But look on the bright side", said Bori and placed an arm around his friend's neck. "You can have any woman you want. The girls love a man in suit and armor." "Girls love dogs, but that doesn't mean that they have to bed them and marry them." Bori sighed. "You are so bleak all the time, Fang. Sometimes I think you are a little too sensitive for this clan. There is no room for emotionally attached soldiers here, you know? Only merciless beasts of raw steel and iron." "I know. I was born into this clan and I know what counts as normal and what doesn't", he shrugged. "I think you know personally that I don't quite fit in here. Mostly because of some... irregular circumstances..." "Besides from being depressive and overly emotional all the time?" Fang nodded. "You know... I am talking about her." Bori choked on his own laughter. "You really oughta take home the price for 'Red Dog most likely to never advance further in Clan Gorehound'", he said. "First fact: she is three years older than you. Second fact: she is a Khajiit. Third fact: she is a Flayed Bitch. Fourth fact: Gregorius Tenebrae holds her in high regards. You are more likely to end up wooing a horker than you have a chance to ask that girl out." "Do you have to be so blunt about it?" "Not at all", chuckled Bori. "Now come on out and have drink with me and the boys. Perhaps there are some other nice Dogs out there that you might fancy. Dogs and cats aren't meant to be together, you know? Especially in this clan." Dogs and cats, ''reflected Fang. "Then perhaps there needs to be a few changes?" "Changes?" said Bori and sounded shocked. "Don't say that out loud here in camp for crying out loud! To make changes here you need to be a bloody Warlord, the Iron Hound himself!" ''The Iron Hound himself, huh? Chapter 2 - The Flayed Bitch Fang often found himself nervous around the female members of Clan Gorehound. They were as equally vicious as the men. Crossing them meant certain death and no one would ever interfere. Such was the life within Clan Gorehound. Everyone kept to themselves and never questioned one another, it was safer that way. Safer if one wanted to remain alive. If the conflicts the clan engaged in didn't kill one, the very own members of the clan would. He didn't even feel secure even among his own friends. They were as likely to comfort him and tell him what a great friend he was, as they were to stab him in the back to get the first dibs on the loot they took from the fallen. But the chance of surviving within the clan was greater when one knew that he or she had companions to back you up in a fight, if things got dire. Fang had Bori, a Nord loyal to the end, and the clan's very own trickster. He had Ungol gro-Daznak, an old Orc who had been around the clan for as long as anyone could remember. No one was even quite sure of where he had come from originally, but the main point was that he was probably one of the better fighter the clan had to offer. Then there was Pavelin... Pavelin was a Bosmer, a few years older than himself. No one knew exactly how he had come to become a part of the clan, but they had all accepted his annoying existence, more or less... Pavelin was beyond words insane and rumors had it that he indulged in both cannibalism and necrophilia. The only reason why he was still alive was because people probably believed that they would catch some nasty and probably deadly disease, if they so much as touched him with a blade. There was also Moraine DuVal, a stunningly gorgeous Breton woman, who was truly too good-looking for the clan. With her appearance she could have easily married a nobleman, but instead she chose to get her hands dirty with the Gorehounds. Fang couldn't help himself but wonder why. She was a warrior of rank Flayed Bitch, but nevertheless she chose to hang around those of lesser importance. Like himself, for instance... Then there was Black Tommard. Fang didn't like the man. Not one bit. The Nord was always boasting about how he had made his last victim scream before he buried his greatsword into the back of their skull. He was infamous within the clan and many members chose to stay clear of him. There was Austinia Faustilius, a grey woman with little to no humor whatsoever. Apparently she had an unhealthy obsession about her fellow mage companion Astor Priamus, a bitter old man who considered anyone who dared to approach him to be a nuisance. Category:The Clan Wars Canon Category:Stories